Americans are addicted to inexpensive ‘fast fashion.’ Are workers and the environment paying the price?
What is fast fashion?
The term emerged in the 1990s when European retailers such Zara and H&M swapped the idea of fashion seasons for collections that change every month. While a traditional retailer may offer 1,000 different styles a year, fast-fashion brands release up to 20,000 a year. And by keeping inventory low, deploying data and analytics to rapidly identify new consumer trends, and using “just in time” production lines to quickly churn out clothes, those businesses typically have higher profit margins than slower, traditional retailers. But the first generation of fast-fashion firms is now being outpaced and underpriced by Chinese e-retailers such as Temu and Shein, which each ship roughly 1 million packages a day to America. Shein pumps out a whopping 1.5 million styles a year—from $4 bikinis to $22 Air Jordan-like sneakers—and accounts for about half of the $41 billion–a-year U.S. fast-fashion market. Social media is littered with videos from influencers and ordinary users showing off their Shein “hauls,” in which they rip open bags filled with cut-price apparel. But as those ultrafast-fashion firms have boomed in popularity, they have faced mounting accusations that their business models are built on labor abuse, tax avoidance, and planet-wrecking waste. “Fast fashion is far from cheap,” said Dilys Williams, a professor at the London College of Fashion. “Someone somewhere is paying the real price.”
How do the companies keep prices low?
The Chinese e-retailers say they are simply nimbler and more efficient than their rivals. Shein uses artificial intelligence to comb social media and online shopping sites, and feeds trending items to designers who whip up new looks. Those designs are then sent to suppliers that make limited runs of the items and ramp up production if they sell well. It takes about 10 days to go from design to production, about one-twentieth the time for traditional competitors. “We’re really a different model” from fast fashion, said Peter Pernot-Day, head of communications at Shein. A U.S. tax loophole known as the de minimis clause, which lets imports worth less than $800 enter the U.S. duty-free, has also helped Shein and Temu undercut the competition. Unlike traditional retailers that send foreign-made goods in bulk to warehouses, the Chinese retailers ship individual orders directly to consumers. As a result, Shein and Temu paid nothing in import duties in 2022, according to a congressional report, while Gap paid $700 million and H&M paid $205 million. Critics say ultrafast-fashion firms further drive down their prices by exploiting workers.
Are workers mistreated?
The factory workers in southern China that make Shein’s $5 crop tops and $10 flared jeans routinely work 12-hour days, six or seven days a week, according to a recent report by Public Eye, a Swiss human rights advocacy group. It found workers typically earn between $830 to $1,380 a month—but after deduct-ing pay for overtime, monthly wages drop to $330. “[I] take one day off each month,” one worker told Public Eye. “I can’t afford any more.” Shein said it “does not recognize many of the allegations” in the report. Workers’ rights groups allege that such abuses are endemic across the entire fast-fashion industry. In Bangladesh, where fast fashion accounts for 80 percent of export earnings, the nearly 600,000 people who make clothes for H&M suppliers earned an average of $119 a month in the first half of 2023. Anger over low pay exploded last October when garment workers set fire to factories and smashed up sewing machines. “This entire industry is built off our backs,” said worker Naima Islam. “The least we deserve is the bare minimum to survive.”
Is fast fashion bad for the environment?
By encouraging consumers to constantly update their wardrobes, the industry generates vast amounts of waste. Shoppers typically wear fast-fashion garments only six or seven times, according to consulting firm McKinsey; for every five items produced, three end up in landfills or are incinerated. These are “disposable fashion companies,” said Maxine Bédat, of the fashion think tank New Standard Institute. “This stuff is not meant to last.” Secondhand markets are so overwhelmed with clothes that some dump unwanted apparel in the wilderness. One pile of discarded fabrics in the middle of Chile’s Atacama Desert weighs up to 59,000 tons—the equivalent of two Brooklyn Bridges. Meanwhile, most items sold by Shein and similar brands are made of petroleum-based synthetic fibers such as polyester and nylon, which are less durable than natural fibers and have a bigger carbon footprint. According to its own reporting, Shein’s carbon emissions have nearly tripled in the last three years, hitting 18 million tons in 2023—the equivalent of four coal-fired power plants. The company says it aims to be carbon neutral by 2050.
Can regulators rein in the industry?
The Biden administration last month proposed new rules to curtail the “overuse and abuse” of the de minimis loophole, which would force Shein and Temu to pay import duties on goods shipped directly to American shoppers. U.S. safety regulators are also calling on officials to step up their investigations of Shein and Temu; South Korean authorities recently reported that multiple products sold by the firms contain worryingly high levels of toxic substances—including carcinogens and fertility-damaging plasticizers. The companies said they rapidly pulled the goods after learning of the claims. But some experts say that true reform will require not just tougher action from authorities, but also for Americans to stop buying so many cheap clothes. Consumers are “making statements that they want to purchase more ethically,” said Divya Demato, CEO of supply chain consultancy GoodOps, “but they’re not really showing that on the scale that is necessary to make brands act.”
Organized intellectual property theft?
Shein and Temu list thousands of new products for sale every day, and artists and designers from around the world report that these include straight-up copies of their own work. Idaho-based Western wear retailer Cheekys saw its house-designed products—featuring the company’s own logo—appear on Temu’s marketplace shortly after being listed on Cheekys’ own site. “To see our earrings being sold for $1.99 with free shipping: It guts you,” founder Jessi Roberts told Time. Temu took those products down after Roberts complained, but designers say copies of their works often reappear elsewhere on the platforms. Beyond the anger felt by these small-business owners at having their creative work pilfered, many worry that Temu and Shein’s extreme discounting is warping consumer expectations. Roberts said she’s been told by customers that her prices are “unfairly” inflated and should be the same as Temu’s. “They don’t understand that a lot of these products we actually designed and created.”
